


Brash Guitars and Love Songs

by fannishliss



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, Women of Supernatural, fan poem
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-08
Updated: 2013-10-08
Packaged: 2017-12-28 18:05:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 295
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/994908
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fannishliss/pseuds/fannishliss
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Detective Diana Ballard  from 2.07 The Usual Suspects</p>
            </blockquote>





	Brash Guitars and Love Songs

Diana knew what betrayal looked like.  
Angry red eyes and an empty gurgle in place of an accusation.  
Diana knew what loyalty looked like --  
two people so closely in synch that they echoed each other in separate rooms.

Diana knew what dedication looked like --  
when duty made you send the law to where your brother was hiding --  
when duty made you open the door to defend your enemy from a spectre of death.

Diana knew what rage looked like -- a love-token cheapened into a garotte --  
a gun turned on a man reckoned no more than a scumbag--  
she saw it all happen through the clarity of rage  
that he thought she was with him, liar, drug dealer, thief, killer,  
ready to gun down in cold blood the man who had helped save her life  
from all he'd brought it down on them in greed and corruption.  
The man on the ground was no monster -- but her partner was.  
She pulled the trigger. And when he kept coming, she pulled it again.

Diana knows what death looks like --  
sometimes it weeps and gurgles and cries accusations--  
sometimes it just stops moving.  

And even in her grief, Diana knows love when she sees it --  
the unguarded joy in the brothers when she lets them go free --  
in the loosening of their lips now they both are okay--  
in their freed-up stance, the job seen through.

Diana knows the work of a cop -- she doesn't know this other work.  
Not yet.  But they do, and so, she lets them go ---

imagines them driving, long through the night,  
away and away, spotting each other,  
the road winding smooth beneath ever-turning wheels,  
while Sam sleeps (or pretends to)  
and Dean blares brash guitars  
he allows to subside into love songs.


End file.
